


Fuck the Miracles

by Niftea



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niftea/pseuds/Niftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little sickfic in which Gamzee gets the sniffles and Karkat tries to be a Mother Cluckbeast and sort of fails, but not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the Miracles

“Fuck the miracles, man.”

You look over at Gamzee, who is sitting some way behind your chair on the floor, his knees raised with his head between them, his hands entangled in thick, unruly hair. You can see him trembling slightly; little tremors skating down his spine and shakes in his fisted hands.

The little corner of your mind reserved especially for Gamzee shaped problems begins to itch.

You hadn’t realised when he had stopped rambling about the ocean and how motherfucking massive it was, but thinking to yourself now, he must’ve been quiet for quite a while.

He had spoken the sentence abruptly but casually, as if continuing a conversation he was having in his own mind, a monologue epiphany which climaxed and ended with the morbid utterance of _Fuck the miracles, man._

Had it been anyone else, you would have ignored this and carried on attempting to troll Egbert for a bit, but this was Gamzee and Gamzee hardly speaks ill of anything, let alone the miracles.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?”

Okay, so you probably could’ve been less empathetically inept than that.

“Not so loud, bro...”

Right, now you feel bad. Time to be gentle, and fuck if Karkat Vantas couldn’t be a gentle romantic douche nozzle when he needed to be. You could. Shut up.

You swivel your chair around to face him fully and he releases a low groan at the squeaking sound it makes.

You murmur an apology and stand up to walk over and kneel in front of him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Gamzee?”

He grunts acknowledgement then coughs a bit.

“Gamzee, the fuck is wrong? Look at me.”

He sighs and drags his head up to your level, slowly, as if he carries all of Alternia on his shoulders. You can hear how ragged his breathing sounds from here, and the strained pants make your gut twist a little. He finally straightens his neck and rolls his back, producing a few satisfying clicks, before hunching back in on his-self. He opens his eyes to gaze at you at last.

His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with raw indigo with heavy bagging under each one. His expression is glazed over, and his eyes go straight through you to the wall of your hive, and fuck if this isn’t giving your Gamzee problem corner an epileptic fit.

“Have you had Sopor?”

He doesn’t answer but continues to stare through you, his hands fidgeting in his lap now.

“Gamzee?”

You shake him lightly, causing him to wince then focus on you, eyes widening and darting around your face as if you had appeared from nowhere. He is clearly out of it for one reason or another. You repeat yourself, slowly and steadily this time, but still keeping your voice low, not quite a whisper.

“Have you had Sopor?”

He looks a little shocked for a second.

“I’m not allowed it, ‘member? I’m not meant to eat it or sleep in it much these days at all. I ain’t had it for a while now...”

You nod, brows furrowing, trying to ascertain the problem behind his eyes.

“Karkat, man, I really ain’t feeling too good.”

Okay. Alright. You can deal with this. Sure.

You try shaking him again, but this simply produces a series of heart wrenching whines and whimpers as his trembling becomes more violent. You slip you hands under his arms and set about moving his lanky form to a pile of cushions in the corner, murmuring to him as you do so, unsure if you are trying to comfort yourself or him.

“Gamzee? Gamzee, don’t fall asleep, don’t fucking do that right now, say reassuring shit to me. Here are some stellar examples, ‘I’m absolutely fine, Karkat!’, ‘I’m probably just tired, Karkat!’, ‘I take back all that mean shit I said about the miracles, Karkat, they’re fucking great! They’re all over the fucking place!’, ‘What a great night to be healthy!’, ‘I am feeling like the pawbeasts pajamas right now! The motherfucking bees knees!” See, easy! Do that now please. Gamzee. Say that. Maybe not so chipper, it wouldn’t suit you to be so lively anyway, make it more in character, add a few more “motherfuckers” in there and speak like your throat is having an aneurism. Now.”

You are well aware that at this point you are babbling nervously to yourself; Gamzee has been reduced to a groaning bundle in your arms as you attempt to move him as gently as possible. Being the ungraceful creature that you are, you do not succeed in this task.

When you finally reach the pile and shove him onto it, you still haven’t figured out an action plan.

Okay, maybe you should wake him up from whatever spontaneous slumber he seems to have fallen into and ask him what _he_ thinks it could be, maybe he was drugged, he just showed up at your hive about an hour ago, complaining he needed some of those ‘sick nasty cuddles’. Anything could’ve happened to him beforehand.

“Hey. Fetish face.”

You pinch his cheek, affectionately as you can manage. He murmurs something unintelligible.

“I need you to talk.”

“Wha abou?”

His voice is slurring and his consonants aren’t quite sharp enough. The words are conceivable, but his tone is worrying.

“About what sort of things has your sorry ass been doing before you came to my hive.”

He nods slowly, and then winces at the movement.

“Talkin’.”

Good, he was with someone. Maybe they’ll know what’s got his think pan in this state.

“To who?”

“Lusus.”

“Okay, I’m going to ca- What?”

“By the sea. In the sea. Goatdad. I motherfucking say things and he motherfucking hears them if he wants. Gotta be somewhere out there. I think.”

Oh.

Well that sort of makes you want to curl up in a corner and cry for a while. It also makes you miss your lusus.

“So... did you start doing that when he...you know...”

You still can’t bring yourself to say it; you still think it was your fault, when you set the curse off.

“Nah, since I was a wriggler. Stand out there. Float a bit. S’all the same.”

“Wait, Gamzee, it’s the middle of 1st perigee. “

“Mmmh.”

“The water fucking freezes during the night, were you sitting on the fucking ice?”

“Not _all_ of it.”

“Come again?”

“Not _all_ of it freezes. You just have to find the gaps in the ice.”

“Oh shit, Gamzee.”

He just mumbles into his chest, head slumping again.

Alright fuck. He’s one sick puppy. What was it that Crabdad used to do when you were sick? Fluids. You needed to keep fluids up. And keep him warm.

You spin around and spot a large blanket sheet thing that you used to hang by the windows to block out the sunlight before Kanaya made you blinds. Why the hell did you ever give your hive windows? You walk over and pick it up; shaking off the dust it’s collected over the sweeps and unfolding it around Gamzee’s shoulders. He shudders into it.

“Okay, wait here, I’m going to get you something to drink, okay?”

You hear him mumble something that sounds suspiciously like “Don’t go” and your blood pusher fractures a splinter more as you look back at him, his eyes shining and hazy, cheeks sallow and breaths coming in huffs.

“What?”

“I said get motherfucking Faygo.”

Oh. Well, fuck that.

“No. Fuck you. I’m making you Tea.”

“Nepeta’s juice?”

“Yeah, that shit. But you better believe I make it better than her any day of the perigee, the whole goddamned universe stands still momentarily just to sigh in contentment like they do in the adverts and marvel at the fucking refreshing qualities I reap in liquid form, holding out their cupped hands to receive my runny gift. Wait, that sounds fucking disgusting, pretend that didn’t sound like filth.”

He grumbles from his throne of sickness, ignoring you completely and failing to be excited at your wicked cool beverage and so you leave him to wallow in self pity at the distinct lack of Faygo in his foreseeable future.

You try to be as quick as you can boiling the special crinkly leaves that a certain Leo is constantly gifting you, and the water turns an odd yellowy green and smells fresh but sweet. You pour the contents of the pan into a cup and hurry back to Gamzee. Upon entrance into the room, you manage to trip on one of Gamzee’s misplaced shoes and nearly drop the tea. You do manage to splash some of the scalding hot liquid on your hand, causing you to yelp like a pawbeast. This also causes you to nearly drop the precious miracle tea in your hands, but you manage to place it quickly on your husk top, before drawing your hand to your chest and inhaling sharply through your teeth.

Gamzee is up in seconds, coming to your aid as tears prick in the corners of your eyes, but he is also heavily handicapped by a sick stomach and a pounding headache at the present, so the consequent head rush at the action forces him back down in a dizzy bundle of limbs, the blanket slipping to his waist and kicking a sock up in the air which lands squarely on his head.

You nearly feel bad for laughing. And then laughing some more. And needing to sit down and catch your breath. And then laughing a wee bit more.

He gains his bearings and looks at you like a punched kitten, hair slipping limply over his eyes and sock falling off to the side. You sigh and shake your head, pushing yourself up, still shaking with tiny giggles.

“You are a pitiful wank flap, you know that?”

He whines at you from his muddled position on the pillows, but smiles at being called pitiful.

“Fine, okay, drink this.”

You walk over to him, the hot liquid held towards him. He sniffs at it and furrows his brow.

“No even a little bit of Faygo?”

“Not even a molecule of that sticky, foul liquid. How do you even get that shit? It’s like unicorn piss or something. Maybe worse. Did you have to elicit sexual favours to a unicorn to extract that fucking abomination? It doesn’t even count as a drink; it’s like the elixir of cavities and piss.”

He whines again and lowers his eyebrows at you, but accepts the cup, grumbling.

“Ain’t no miracles in not Faygo drinks...”

You watch him begrudgingly take a few sips then you turn to sort out the mess you made when you tripped, berating him as you do.

“No more going in the sea in the middle of winter Gamzee, okay? I mean it’s abso-fucking-lutely fine you talking to your lusus if you think he can hear you in lusus heaven or some adorable bullshit, but you can’t do that if it’s going to leave you internally shit-faced with a washed up whales arse of a face.”

He offers you another smile, probably trying to look a bit less like a whales arse, but his eyes are still watering, his cheeks tinged indigo and his nose is starting to run as he drinks more warm tea. You roll your eyes.

“You have to agree you nook chafing numbnut , that’s how orders go. I say do shit, you say you will.”

“That ain’t an order, that’s a promise best friend.”

“Well then just fucking promise. And don’t question my leadership skills.”

“Alright my man, promise of promises I won’t.”

“Pale promise it.”

He grins.

“For sure man, get those fingers over here.”

You amble over, suddenly feeling shy and bashful. Soppy romantic shit like pale promising always get you blushing like a tomato. You stand in front of Gamzee and he puts his hand out, the first two fingers extended in a peace sign, he then pulls you hand up and you extend your fingers. He pushes the fingertips together and they form a disproportionate diamond, more like a kite, what with his hands being so much bigger than yours, as is everything else of his that you’ve seen.

That you’ve _seen_ mind, a troll could always dream, right?

“I pale promise.”

You nod and feel you mouth bend to a small grin, which he mirrors and exemplifies before shuddering violently. You frown and pap his cheek lightly, he sighs, letting his eyes fall closed and leans into the touch like a depraved puppy. Fuck that is adorable. It was odd for him to look all vulnerable yet cute at the same time, it was also odd for you to call anyone _cute_. You stand pondering the oddness of the entire fucking situation as you stare vacantly at him, when he suddenly flicks his eyes back open and grabs your wrist, pulling you down towards him as you yelp your serenity goodbye.

You are about to growl at him or some threatening shit but he sort of wraps your arms around himself and nuzzles into your chest. You clear you throat in what could be conceived as a threatening manner.

“Just keep a motherfucker warm for a bit, man.”

He looks up at you from your own torso, then lets his head fall back on your chest as his neck droops.

“Fuck Gamzee, watch your horns.”

You redirect his horns and sequentially his head to avoid a punctured throat. He gasps and winces as you suddenly grasp his left horn near the middle and steer him.

“Sorry.”

“Nah bro, just a bit sensitive and all. Horns and head.”

“Yeah, forgot for a minute. Sorry.”

He huffs a laugh.

“You feeling pretty apologetic today, palebro?”

“Fuck your face. Geez, I try to be nice, yet lo and behold, you throw it back in my undeserving and handsome face like a wet flannel. Lie down.”

He sneezes and you use the opportunity to push on his shoulders and he falls back easily, landing with a quiet “oomph”. He looks up with a faint embarrassment and confusion written on his face.

“Why you pushing me for? Thought I was sick...”

“You are sick, assfool. Why’d you think?”

You clamber onto the pile and situate yourself beside him, but further up the pile, sort of spooning him with his head below your chin, horns angled away from you. You reach around and wrap the blanket around the both of you. You hear him utter a soft “oh.”

It feels a bit weird at first, your roles normal roles seemingly switched, usually you being coddled and him clinging to you, since he is much taller and his horns often get in the way if you try it the other way, but he is already sort of curled up slightly to keep warm, and so it doesn’t feel so awkward. You slip a leg between his and you fit together more naturally.

A warm silence settles, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Gamzee or your own shifting in the pile to regain feeling in an arm you hadn’t placed so wisely. Eventually Gamzee moves it himself from where it had been trapped between the two of you to rest above his head. You tangle the fingers in the loose strands of his hair, but don’t pull or tease it, just let it lie there.

“You’re the warmest motherfucker I know out of anyone, for serious.”

You grunt and exhale into his hair, leaning in a bit to nuzzle his hornbeds. You like petting Gamzee; you don’t do it as often as you wish to and not as often as perhaps you should.

Silence stretches out again and Gamzee goes remarkably quiet, you begin to wonder if he’s falling asleep, so you try to think of something to say. You’re not sure you want him sleeping just yet; you need to check he’s healthy enough before you let him nod off.

“What do you talk to your lusus about?”

He tenses noticeably for a moment and you’re suddenly aware how touchy a subject this is, you are about to apologise or tell him he doesn’t have to talk about that, but he sighs wistfully and speaks up himself.

“Everything. Shoot up all the wicked shit for him, keep him up to date, always have. Talk about the mysteries that go down each and every day, talk about how I ain’t having Sopor no more, talk about the colours of the sky, talk about my dreams and the bubbles, talk about you. All the bitchtits stuff, man.”

You listen fondly as he rambles on about the little things he talks about, all the while petting and fretting and fiddling with his hair, his horns, his clothes, just gentle papping and stroking, warming him up and calming him down. His voice is low and soft, purrs coming through the sentences now and then.

“Can I come some time?”

“To see my lusus?”

His voice raises its pitch just a tad.

You hum into his hair.

“Just sounds like a nice thing to do, even if a bit fucking farfetched.”

You rub little circles into the soft shorter hair behind his ear. He purrs again.

“I think I’d motherfucking like that, brother. We got ourselves a paledate then?”

You snort lightly.

“Sure, if you can call a monologue to your dead lusus a date. I’ll bring the candles, you bring the picnic hamper.”

“Whatever, invertabrother. As long as your there, man.”

At this point Gamzee’s voice is slurring and husky, growing lethargic in the presence of your affection. You drape an arm around him under the blanket and squeeze him lightly.

“What’s the status of your ignorant miracles then? You still pessimistically fucking them? Or something to that extent.”

He huffs a laugh and wriggles back into your torso a bit.

“Karbro, the miracles were back when you all up and made me tea juice. I’m just swimming in the beautiful unknown presence of them now. I mean just fucking look all around, or motherfucking don’t, you don’t just see the miracles, you can feel them to, like my head ain’t even sore too much anymore. Feel the warmth man, tell me that ain’t some next level beauty shit.”

“Fuck, shut up. Sorry I asked. Christ on a stick.”

“Who?”

“I don’t fucking know, it’s a human thing. Some dude who saved the world with miracles or some shit.”

“Sounds like a stellar brother.”

“Sounds like an obnoxious prick.”

He chuckles again then tries to turn in your arms.

“Fuck. Horns, Gamzee.”

“Ahh, sorry, brother.”

He shifts and continues turning.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Getting some sick nasty cuddles.”

“What, and these ones aren’t fucking good enough?”

“Bro, these are the bitches tits of cuddles, but just I’m thinking I need some variation here. Just all up and going with what my instincts are handing me here.”

You can hear his ragged panting coming back and so you put your hands on his shoulders to still him.

“Okay, we can do this your way, but stop straining your temporarily diseased lungs.”

He looks down at his own chest accusingly.

“Yes, those lungs. Where do you want me?”

Shit if you don’t sound like his cheap whore.

“Round here bro, right next to my bloodpusher, it’s the warmest place I reckon I got. But keep the blanket. Still a little cold.”

Whores didn’t usually bring blankets though.

You clamber over him and slide down into his waiting arms, he draws you to his chest and presses a wet kiss to your forehead.

“Fuck that is disgusting. I don’t want your douche flu thing.”

“I ain’t giving it.”

You mutter under your breath as you get comfy and peck a kiss onto his throat, to which he hums in reply.

“Karrail, can I get my wicked nap on now? I’m kinda a little dizzy even though we’re all lying down and shit, and it ain’t the nice Sopor kinda dizzy where everything feels soft, it’s kinda sick sort of dizzy.”

“Well, if that plethora of informative, elegant yet descriptive language hasn’t satiated my word pallet for at least a few sweeps, I don’t know what ever fucking will. Yes, you can sleep now Gamzee.”

He makes a low noise in the back of his throat and uses his chin to pull your head closer to him, coughs lightly, then kisses your ear.

“Night brother.”

You sigh as you glance at the window and realise this is true, it is night and you’re going to spend your whole night here probably, babysitting your knackered moirail, because hell if you were going to sleep. Waste of a day you could have spent hacking and coding.

Gamzee’s grip around your waist loosens as he begins to snore softly into your hair and you mentally captchalouge this scene for that pale romcom you’re going to write and direct one day, deciding the day isn’t so wasted after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Ehehehe I'm just going to go sit in a corner and go back to writing as Gamzee ehehehe


End file.
